Who am I, before I was alive here on earth, after nine months of dreaming about this world?
Who am I, before my mother decided to grab me, a little baby, and leave my father behind with his bottles of wine?
Who am I, before my grandma decided that is time to go to heavens and forget about her niece?
Who am I, before my mother decided to take me back to little Paris and to see my grandpa and childhood hillsides only in the summertime?
Who am I, before I saw all those cartoons and read all that fairytale books and become such a inoccent dreamer?
Who am I, before I first saw the tall stranger with a black umbrella that I supposed to call “father”?
Who am I, before the bullies in my class decided to call me a nerd and make fun of me?
Who am I, before I fell in love for the first time?
Who am I, before I was compared with children’s neighbors and made me think that I’m not good enough?
Who am I, before I tried to fit in into a circle of friends that I didn’t belong?
Who am I, before I worked for that summer holiday to a printing house and discover The Devil upon two sticks by Lesage and the magic of books?
Who am I, before I fell in love with the boy who gave me a red rose but left me with a broken heart?
Who am I, before I started to take all the wrong decisions and hurt people around?
Who am I, before I worked to a café-bar for another summer holiday with the one that becomes my favorite person in the world?
Who am I, before I fell in love for the “n” time with the wrong person?
Who am I, before I spoked in front of the entire high school at my graduation festivities?
Who am I, before I worked almost ten years for corporations that left me with a heavy soul?
Who am I, after my grandpa was taken from me in a cold January?
Who am I, after a year later when the stranger with umbrella has gone to the clouds, where there’s no rain?
Who am I, after gathering dreams and future plans that were not mine?
Who am I, after I lost myself into relationships where I didn’t know how to be myself or how to love enough the one next to me?
Who am I, after I found myself a soulmate, a purpose, a perfect love story?
Who am I, after years of capturing so many love stories and so little from my own life?
Who am I, after the “roller coaster of emotions” kind of meeting with mother Ayahuasca?
Who am I, after the world stopped and I saw myself running into all my shadows?
Who am I, after all that poetry and all that words that are haunting me?
Who am I, after the world told me who I should be?
But who am I, long before this dream?